


And You Were Waiting When I Got There

by magdarko



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Boarding School, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-07
Updated: 2010-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1668320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magdarko/pseuds/magdarko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin Evans hadn’t been hoping for much more than to find a school where he could finish his last year in relative peace. Then he meets his headmaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And You Were Waiting When I Got There

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from [merlinxarthur](merlinxarthur.livejournal.com). Everyone’s legal here, but there is some touching of the non-platonic variety (very little!) between one person who’s (chronologically) a teenager and one person who’s rather older.

Merlin fidgets with the new watch that feels too heavy on his wrist. It’s a little cold here in the corridor outside the Headmaster’s office, and Merlin hopes that’s not true of the rest of the school. Not that it would be a problem, precisely: Merlin hasn’t had to worry about inclement weather since he was five years old t _he night he woke up, power juddering furiously under his skin, his eyes glinting gold, and a lifetime of memories blazing like dreams or visions behind his eyelids_. Still, he’d rather not use his... natural advantages unless he has to. He firmly suppresses memories of old, draught-ridden dormitories and stony stares. Riverbourne isn’t going to be like his old school. He’s only seen the dorms from the outside, of course, but they looked solid and well-built and not like buildings where the roof leaked and the windows never closed properly when it rained. 

Riverbourne’s going to be different, he tells himself. And anyway, he’s older now, old enough to know better than to—it will be different.

Mum reaches out and stills his fidgeting hands with one of hers. Her hand is warm and soft, the best kind of comfort, and for a moment Merlin feels a wave of exhaustion and unhappiness at the thought of leaving home again and going back to another school where he has to hide and repress and forget and try to act _normal,_ even if it’s only for a year _._ He grits his teeth. He can’t exactly back out now.

“Merlin,” Mum admonishes gently. “Try to relax, dear. Do you want to meet your Headmaster looking like you have a stomachache?” He looks at her sideways, and a smile breaks out on his face in response to the one that crinkles her eyes. “It’ll be fine,” she adds softly. “All you need is a fresh start. You’ll see.” 

“I know, Mum,” he sighs. Coming back to this was his idea, after all. It’s just... well, Mum doesn’t know all of it, and he can’t possibly tell her. _Buck up, Merlin,_ he tells himself, not for the first time this year. _If you’re going to be hiding what you are for the rest of your life there’s no better place to learn to do it._ (And anyway, it’s not like he hasn’t done it before, the hiding—and the stakes were much higher then. But he’s not thinking about that.) 

Miss Phelps, the sweet-faced old woman who sat them outside the Headmaster’s office five minutes ago, comes back with a clack-clack of heels on the stone floor. “I think you’d better come in,” she says pleasantly to Mum. “The Headmaster will only be a minute, and it’s a bit draughty, isn’t it?”. Mum nods and smiles in thanks, standing and smoothing out her skirt. “Come along, Merlin,” she says cheerfully. She pulls gently on the wrist not occupied by the silly clunky watch, and he rises obediently and trots after her to the door that says _Headmaster Bennett_ in gold letters that wink in the afternoon sun. The brass letters look new, and there are shadows of other letters on the door behind them. 

He finds himself saying a silent—well, not a prayer: being able to turn call lightning from the sky makes it difficult to have faith in organised religion—but something, a silent, desparate litany of _please let this work please let this be all right_ as he follows his mother through the door. 

His first impression is of a cheerful, well-lit room, nothing like Headmaster Robinson’s dark, forbidding study, with its heavy furniture and huge trophies like grim sentinels everywhere. There are trophies here, too, but they’re arranged carefully against one wall, and the furniture is light and modern-looking: the desk looks a bit like Merlin’s father’s desk at home, with papers all over it but neat and orderly. Merlin notices all that only later, though—after that first fleeting impression of bright cheerfulness, all he can see is _that colour_ : the drawn curtains, the cushions of the chairs that he and Mum are directed to, the upholstery of the comfy-looking desk chair on the other side of the desk—they’re all the same vibrant shade of red. Something in Merlin flares up, sharp and aching. He’s suddenly seeing, and trying to stop seeing, the images of pennants flapping in the breeze, of a bright standard, of well-worn shirts, of fluttering surcoats and a red jacket—he stamps down furiously on the too-bright flashes of dream/memory/vision. This is exactly what he’s trying to get past, all these crazy ideas left in his head by half-remembered dreams. Still, once he calms himself he can’t help but like the room better for the splashes of _red, red, it’s just red_. 

Miss Phelps gets them seated and explains that Merlin’s trunk has already been taken to his dormitory, that Headmaster Bennett likes to speak to all his new students when they arrive, and that in this case he thought it would be wise to speak to Mrs Evans as well. She manages to say it without sounding condescending or nasty or superior, and Merlin doesn’t even feel all that defensive. (Well, he does, but she so clearly means well that he finds it in himself to hide it.) She says the Headmaster’s on his way. 

Miss Phelps and Mum are still talking quietly when the door to the study opens again and someone comes in. Merlin shuffles to his feet, remembering Robinson the Dragon and how he’d always insisted that the boys rise to greet him. He turns to the door—and freezes. 

God, if he’d known! Merlin can’t breathe, he can’t... he stares helplessly as Headmaster Bennett walks briskly across the room and slides smoothly behind his desk. Merlin’s eyes move hungrily over the golden-blond hair, the swift, piercing keenness of the blue eyes _god those eyes_ , the broad shoulders and the strong, capable-looking hand that he extends over the desk to Merlin’s mum. 

“Good afternoon, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he says, cheerfully. The smile is swift and genuine and—and _sweet_ and it’s not even the second or third reason Merlin’s staring at that mouth. 

The mouth is moving. Talking. “Mrs Evans, I’m Arthur Bennett.” He and Mum shake hands _ohgodohgod he’s shaking hands with my mum_ and then those eyes move over to him. “And this must be Merlin,” Headmaster Bennett says. He gives Merlin a more restrained ( _remote_ ) version of the smile. Merlin belatedly realises he’s staring at his headmaster looking like he’s been whacked over the head, and pulls himself together. 

“Um, yes,sir,” he says, finally, knowing that his voice is wobbling and not able to do a thing about it. Hopefully everyone will just assume he’s nervous. It’s not an unreasonable conclusion, after all—he had been pretty nervous, before. Now his worries from earlier—whether he’ll fit in here, whether it’ll be better than it was at his old school, whether they’ll think he’s crazy or find out about his—well. 

Those worries seem like something from a dream now. Everything seems like something from a dream, remote and muffled. Dimly, he’s aware that mum and the headmaster have sat down, and he sort of collapses into his own chair. The Headmaster is talking to mum about school policies, telling her that Merlin will be seeing a counsellor twice a week, and that all the teachers have an open-door policy that the students are encouraged to make use of. Merlin finds it a little difficult to keep his mind on the conversation. 

The Headmaster turns to him. “Merlin,” he says, easily but in a tone that commands immediate attention, “I realise that things haven’t been very easy for you at your last school, but that’s the past now. Things work a little differently here, as I think you already know.” He gives Merlin a brief, encouraging smile. “You’re under no obligation to conform to any of the conditions we’ve set,” he adds, and Merlin blinks, surprised. He hadn’t expected that. The Headmaster seems to read his surprise, because the friendly smile changes briefly into a smirk, and Merlin’s breath abruptly stutters again. He clenches his fists under the table, forcing more and more images to the back of his mind: that smirk accompanied by lazy orders and easy banter, that smirk twisting a serious face for a moment of lightness in the dark of a tent. He knows his jaw is clenching, that he probably looks furious or constipated, and he’s proven right when his mother’s hand squeezes his arm hard in warning. 

The Headmaster, however, doesn’t seem angry. He nods minutely and goes on smoothly as if nothing had happened. “I don’t think you’ll find any of them particularly onerous, in any case, and I hope you’ll find it in yourself to comply with all our rules of your own accord.” (Of course: his record probably reflects how little Merlin likes to be forced into things.) Merlin manages a no doubt wobbly smile at the headmaster, which only seems to amuse him. He sends Merlin another remote smile in response and turns back to Merlin’s mum. He talks to her for a while about performance updates and review cards; Merlin gets the general idea that the school isn’t going to breathe down his neck, but that he’ll be monitored and his mother updated every month. It isn’t anything he didn’t already know, and he uses the time to calm himself down. Despite the visions coming more insistently in the last ten minutes than they have for months, it’s easier to slow his breathing, to unclench his fists and relax his shoulders. _It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay,_ he thinks, repeating it over and over to himself the way he always has. He spares a moment to wonder if these counsellors he’s supposed to see will tell him to do something similar—that is, if he breaks his own rule and tells them about his visions, which he doesn’t plan to do. 

Eventually, Mum stands and holds out her hand to the Headmaster, and he rises to take it. “I wouldn’t worry about him, Mrs Evans,” he says, and somehow there’s something in his voice, bracing and gentle, which makes Mum smile, the lines in her forehead smoothing slightly. Merlin feels a sudden rush of gratitude towards his new head for getting the frown off Mum’s face, even for a moment. “Merlin’s record may be spotty but he’s by no means a problem child. On the contrary, I think he’ll do very well.” He smiles encouragingly at her. “He only needs the right atmosphere—“ and here his eyes cut to Merlin, pinning him for an instant with an intense look, before moving back to Merlin’s mum.“—and I know we can give him that here.” 

Merlin’s mum gives a sort of nervous laugh. “I hope so, Dr Bennett.” She gives Merlin a fond look before turning back to smile at the Headmaster. “Well,” she says brightly, “I daresay I’ll take your leave, then.” 

Merlin walks with her slowly to the door, knowing that he’ll have to say his goodbyes to her now, that she’ll make her way to the car and he won’t see her for _months_. As he’s following her out, the Headmaster says, “Oh, Merlin, come back to my office after—there are a few things I need to discuss with you.” 

Merlin says, “Yes, sir,” turning back briefly to the desk. The Headmaster is sitting again, looking over papers in a file—probably Merlin’s. He doesn’t look up, only nods in acknowledgement. 

In the corridor, Merlin’s mum pulls him into a tight hug. Merlin curls himself around her, needing the support after everything that’s happened in the last ten minutes. Usually he can go days in between visions, and he’s just had two one after the other. For a moment, he doesn’t think he can do this. 

Mum kisses his temple. “Take care, Merlin,” she whispers. “Try to—try to be happy, darling.” She gives him a final squeeze, and he kisses her on the cheek. “I’ll try, mum,” he says softly, not willing to make more of a commitment after all the disappointments they’ve both had—but, god, she’s so _worried._ He’d do so much more for her than grit his teeth and force himself through his delayed last year of school. 

She pulls away, touching his cheek gently before she says, “Goodbye, darling,” and turning away. He watches her down the corridor and round the corner before he sighs and turns back to Headmaster Bennett’s office and knocks. 

“Come in,” calls the headmaster, and he opens the door. Miss Phelps and the headmaster are both at the desk, conferring in low voices over the file between them. When he comes in, the headmaster says, “Yes, I think that’ll do, Laura,” and she smiles and nods, taking the file and tucking it under her arm. She smiles at Merlin on her way out, and then the door closes behind her and it’s just him and the headmaster in the room. 

The door has barely clicked shut behind them when the headmaster _explodes_ from his desk chair, flinging himself out from behind his desk and eating up the space between them in three long strides. Merlin stays where he is, eyes wide and heart pounding, and then the headmaster’s at the door and laughing and his arms are around Merlin and he’s dragging him into a hug that feels like they’re both being squeezed into one body, and Merlin says, brokenly, “Arthur, _Arthur,_ ” and winds his arms around him and buries his face in Arthur’s shoulder. “My king,” he mumbles into the wool of Arthur’s blazer. “My—my— _Arthur,_ ” and Arthur laughs, a choky broken-up laugh that sounds like he’s laughing and crying at the same time, and says, “Merlin, Merlin, oh my god, Merlin,” and winds the fingers of one hand in Merlin’s hair, using the grip to pull Merlin’s face away from his shoulder so that he can look at his face. 

Up close, it’s impossible to deny the truth, impossible to hide his knowledge of that dear, precious face behind _headmaster_ and _sir_ , and Merlin no longer wants to. “Arthur,” he says, feeling his eyes prickle with tears, feeling them spill down his face and _not caring.  
_

Arthur laughs again and touches his forehead to Merlin’s, his hand coming up to brush Merlin’s tears away. “God,” he says. “I knew the minute I saw your record, I knew it was you.” He curls his hand around Merlin’s neck and pulls him forward, gently, to brush their lips together. He huffs another laugh against Merlin’s mouth. “Insubordinate as ever,” he says, his voice heavy with fondness and amusement and—and _love_ , and Merlin laughs back and presses forward into another kiss, and another, and another. 

(Arthur will drag him over to the desk, afterwards, and insist on actually sitting down and reviewing Merlin’s record and going over his weekly appointments with the counsellor, which is just Arthur all over, but after that he’ll sit up on the desk and make Merlin tell him everything, about the magic that’s as out of control as ever, and the memories that have made him think he’s crazy since he was five years old, and then he’ll pull Merlin into another hug, and they will stay that way until they remember that Merlin is supposed to be a student and that he can’t stay in the headmaster’s office forever. 

Of course, he’s going to be in there a lot over his one year at Riverbourne, sent there by teachers more often than not, and Arthur will groan about Merlin’s inability to take orders, and Merlin will point out that he’s not actually eighteen though he might look it, and they’ll have epic arguements that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in the Prince’s chambers in Camelot of old--but all that is a story for another day.)

_-fin-_

 


End file.
